Sparrows and Secrets
by Queen of Hellions
Summary: It has been nearly a year since the movie ended and Commodore Norrington still strives to prove his love to Elizabeth, but he blows it big time at her wedding...everything seems to be going wrong, even when an injured Jack Sparrow shows up.
1. Headstrong

Commodore Norrington could hardly bare to stand in the back during the wedding of Will Turner and the soon to be Mrs. Elizabeth Turner. His head was kept raised in a dignified manner, as always, as he surveyed the ceremony ever so intently. However, a tinge of sadness gleamed beneath his cerulean eyes, hands knotted behind his back, fingertips gracing the cold stone behind him. He was sure that was all that was supporting him at the moment. Not a day went by, after the day Elizabeth and Will spoke of their passion for each other, had he wondered why she chose him. A pirate. A filthy blacksmith with the blood of a pirate in him.  
  
However, another half of him struggled to be happy for Elizabeth. It was his duty to ensure the safety of her father and herself, though would Will take that away from him as well? It was no secret he wasn't in his prime any more, as the young Mr. Turner was, though he was still idolized by maids in the Governor's household and female townsfolk, though none contented him. He didn't appreciate being idolized either. He was a simple man with only a title before his name. He was almost certain that no one had ever heard his first name, only addressed by Commodore, Sir or Norrington. Something was defiantly missing from his life and he felt that if it were not replaced it would tear him up from the inside. Was it Elizabeth...or something else?  
  
He held his breath slightly as the ceremony began to close, determined to keep a stony expression to hide his building rage. His hand writhed behind him, though he used one hand to seize his wrist and get a tight grip on it to stop the nervous shaking.  
  
"Do you, William Turner, take Elizabeth Swann to be your wedded wife; to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse-"  
  
The priest's voice seemed to waver in Norrington's head, his eyes blazing with fury for the couple and within himself. His breathing grew deep and labored, lips quavering for any words that could escape him. Nothing.only silent and dry gasps of air, as if from a dying man.  
  
"And do you, Elizabeth Swann, take William Turner to be your wedded husband; to have and to hold from this day forward-"  
  
Elizabeth.No! Don't give in! He won't support you!  
  
He couldn't seem to bring his thoughts into words, only faint whispers that drifted through his mind, seemingly mocking him in his mute state. A cold trickle of sweat ran down his brow, his hands shaking through their tight hold. He glances around for a moment, looking quite panicked and skittish, selfish thoughts still irking him to the brink of insanity. Thought could not be processed now; his mind was clouded and overshadowed by the inevitable. Elizabeth and Will were going to be married. Something kept reminding him of that, that his wished would never be. He was meant to be miserable. He was meant to suffer. He was meant to be alone. His work demanded it of him; his existence would be a montage of sorrow and fury, as all heroes' futures seem at one point. Bleak. However, there is always a faint glimmer of light at the end of the tunnel and most reach it. There was none for Norrington. He had fallen into a bottomless pit from which there was no escape. There was no light for him. Will had stolen it.  
  
"Is there anyone among us who would object in the unison of these two young- "  
  
The priest needn't have finished his statement. Rashly, Norrington took a stride forward, voice raised about the other heads surrounding, echoing over the sea and towards the stone alter that overlooked that vast, blue abyss on which the two lovers stood.  
  
"I do!"  
  
He exclaimed rather loudly, rather frantically. His voice seemed to break off for a moment. A sort of twisted grin came to his face for a moment, eyes glinting in a malicious manner, wild and crazed. A chuckle, nay, a content and hearty laugh nearly escaped him before he caught sight of all the eyes falling upon him. What was he doing? Was he truly degrading himself like this? Here? Now? He glances up slightly, flush coming to his colorless cheeks as he met with Elizabeth's eyes. She looked stunned, as did Will, though Elizabeth shocked him more. She looked horrified, embarrassed and dishonored.because of him. The pit he had tumbled into suddenly grew darker and he plummeted faster.  
  
After a few moments of staring into the frozen bride's eyes he staggers back slightly, stumbling against the back of the stone fall. His glance shifted toward his side, focusing on the figure that was Lieutenant Gillette, who was moving away from him slightly as well. Norrington's face turned a violent shade of red, heat overtaking him. He had ruined it.just by two simple words. What a fool he was! He didn't dare glance back toward the couple as he rushed down the aisle and past them, down the stone staircase, only his footsteps and the shocked murmurs and whispers following him... 


	2. Storm's a'brewin'

Far off from Port Royal, in the middle of the Caribbean, the solitary silhouette of a ship drifted in front of the setting Caribbean sun. The tattered sails billowed in the winds, clapping in a steady beat, while the oars on either side of the ship maintained a steady rhythm as they treaded through the darkened waters. Behind the helm stood a figure of tanned flesh, dark, dread locked hair and amber optics. His scruffy, though shaggy appearance shrouded him with a sort of charm. A gentle brow was arched behind his intent gaze on an apple, held in his right-hand, before he raised it to his lip and took a bite. The juices trickled down his shabby beard, though he paid no mind, gaze moving once more out towards the open sea.  
  
The man hummed a steady tune beneath his breath, focused, with an official look about him, on the course that lay before the ship and himself. He tossed the apple core over the starboard side, taking up a compass in the hand the apple was in previously in, stealing occasional glances at it. After a few moments of puzzlement, he bit his lower lip and cast the compass aside, resting his hands easily over the helm. As the man broke into a chorus of 'really bad eggs' he felt a sudden lurch from the ship. He staggered back a few steps and the cool air finally struck him, sending him back and flat on the deck. It wasn't until then he noticed the sky, clouded with grayed and blackened clouds that seemed to taunt him. The darker section was still a distance away, but drawing closer with every breath. The low rumble of thunder was what broke the man's stare, after which he rose to his feet, slowly trying to maintain balance between the ship's steady rocks.  
  
A man of short build, graying hair and long sideburns rushed up towards the helm where the other man stood. His expression looked pale, eyes widened and drifting between the clouds, the man, and the faint silhouette of land in the distance.  
  
"Cap'n Sparrow! Storm's a'brewin' by the looks of things. Bes' think we be droppin' anchor somewheres. What say you?"  
  
"No, Gibbs," Sparrow replied coolly, hand resting on the helm for the sake of style, and masking his lack of balance, "we'll manage."  
  
Sparrow managed to maintain a sly grin through all of this, golden glimmer catching the little rays of sunlight that was left. Gibbs struggled to protest for a moment before the firm gleam of his captain's dark optics before he silenced with a defeated sigh.  
  
"Aye, Sir." Was all he gave besides a brief nod as he turned away on his heel. He wanted to curse out at his captain's foolishness, though decided against it for the sake of his own hide.  
  
Jack smiled slightly as his right hand rose and began tugging at the edge of his moustache in a triumphant sort of way. He thought he was doing a good job of keeping this crew in line, well.almost all of them Annamaria was a problem, but she was a free-spirited lass and he was willing to accept that. He didn't have a choice, now that he thought about it.if Jack tried to order Annamaria around the heavens would crash down upon him. He shook his frivolous thoughts off as his grin returned, looking towards the horizon again.  
  
Hours later, they were in the eye of the storm, the Pearl swiveling wildly through the blackened sea. Waves crashed across the side of the ship in attempt to break her, attempting to drown the maiden-embodiment of the Pearl that resided on the bow. The crew struggled to maintain their duty, which was holding on for their lives, though Gibbs and Annamaria had managed to rig up some rope for lifelines. Jack stuck by the helm the whole time, almost as if a strong adhesive was what was holding his hands there. In a way it was, spirit and determination to get everyone and himself out of this mess. A cry came out from behind and Jack attempted to drown it out for the sake of the crew, the Pearl and himself. The cry rang out above the claps of thunder, the roar of the sea and the constant patter of rain. Finally, he could stand it no longer. He felt one hand slide off of the helm as he turned around to face his lifelined crew, catching a glimpse of one of his crew members sliding off the deck as the ship cocked at an awkward angle. The rest of his crew was pressed firmly against the opposite railing and against the mast, glancing longingly towards their companion to reach out and help him, though they were helpless.  
  
Jack's brows furrowed slightly as he took a stagger forward, slowly releasing his hand from the helm and feeling himself sliding across the deck. His eyes widened as he yelled out as well, arms flailing above his head before he lost his balance again, landing on his back and sliding off towards the edge. A louder yell escaped him as he shut his eyes tightly for only a second, a bit of hope gleaming in them as he quickly thrashed out his hands and seized a hold of the rope his companion was dangling off of. A heavy sigh of relief was emitted, as well as a groan as he looked closely at the soaked man. His arms were shaking desperately to hold on, eyes shut tightly as a wail escaped him. Damn the new dogs he picked up from Tortuga.he knew they were too young.  
  
"Up y'go, son!" Jack yelled up above the natural, yet horrid sounds.  
  
"I can', sir!" The boy yelled back, pressing his face against the deck as a few more wails escaped him.  
  
"Well, you'd damn well better try!" A hand was released from the rope as he gave the boy's thigh a slap, as an order to climb up. The response was not what he wanted. On impulse, the boy's leg thrashed and Jack's grip was lost. The crew could only watch in horror as their captain plummeted into the black, unforgiving waters of Davy Jones' Locker. 


	3. Strange reunion at sea

Norrington was relieved to be back aboard the HMS Dauntless, the fair maiden's rudder turned to the vanishing port in the distance. He knew Elizabeth was still back there, sitting somewhere and still pondering about his absurd actions. Never would he be able to forgive himself for doing that, and he felt that Elizabeth would feel the same. A hand was laid upon the ship's railing for support, top row of teeth biting down on his tender, lower lip. He remained aside from the others, keeping his distance only because of his distraction. The crew, of course, found this odd, but their perspective of him had changed as well. The crew simply continues toiling and working at their duties, leaving the Commodore to think whatever he pleased.  
  
Norrington wasn't bothered by this in the least, of course, that was because he hardly noticed. When a brief period of consciousness came to him from the deep thought, he caught a few glances from the crew. A stenciled brow was lifted, standing erect from his leaning position. His arms crossed curtly behind his back in a military fashion, head tilted up somewhat towards the Heaven's.  
  
"On with your duties, lads. No time for dallying, must get those imports within the fortnight."  
  
The men glanced at each other and nodded. Once their backs were turned, Norrington could still distinguish their mumbles, curses and stifled laughs by the very movements of their abdomen and heads. He shook his own head at the sailors' intolerable arrogance and turned on his heel to look out to the sea. A heavy sigh was given off as he placed both hands upon the railing, leaning forward and shutting his eyes tightly. The faint clattering of the dinner bell was sounded, as well as the men's excited footsteps towards the galley, but Norrington paid no heed to it. His head dipped down slightly, with another heaved sigh from his chest. The ocean. The ocean did strange things to a man. Mr. Sparrow was one instance he remembered distinctly, for he was quite odd. The whole situation of those days was odd, true enough, but for some reason, Jack was the only memory that actually stuck.  
  
Slowly, his lids opened, cerulean optics wandering off and around the seemingly endless blue oblivion. There was a lot to think about right now, and the fresh air was releasing all these thoughts, rather than keeping them bottled up. Perhaps this trip was good for him. The ocean was so captivating, it made one think about-  
  
Norrington's thoughts were interrupted by a darkened figure spotted in the water. He squinted his eyes slightly, leaning closer to make the figure out, but he had no such luck. Briskly, he made his way across the deck and returned to the railing with a bronze telescope. The instrument was held firmly by his eye, aimed towards the figure. He could scarcely make out a soaked man, tangle of black locks over his head. The telescope was cast aside as he opened his mouth to cry out for an assist, but something stopped him. Quickly, he slipped his jacket and powdered wig off as well as various, pocketed instruments and pistons. His boots clacked softly against the wooden floor, though his movements were stealthy and graceful.  
  
A rope was seized from its hooked position on the side of the cabin, and bound tightly around his waist. He tugged at it once more to make sure it was secured and nodded, satisfied. He had to be quicker, the currents of the ocean carrying the man past the ship every moment. Once he secured the other end of the rope on deck, he braced himself, teetering on the edge of the railing. Suddenly, the drop seemed farther. A brief shake of his head silenced his thoughts and he dove off, hitting the warm water.  
  
Once he broke to the surface, Norrington sputtered slightly, shaking out his dark, brown locks that had fallen out of their leather-bound strap. He squinted, gaze drifting around for any sign of the man. The salt water stung his eyes, as did the blasts of wind. He coughed out again and nearly died of fright right there as he felt something griping for his side. A choked sputter was all that came out, rather than a scream, before he made out the figure clinging to him. It was the drowning man.or rather.Jack Sparrow. He "yelled" out again and shoved Jack away slightly, moving back a bit himself. He could only stare as the weary Jack started to drift off again.  
  
A few deep breaths were taken, followed by intervals of spitting out seawater from his mouth. The waves kept jumping up and lapping his face, the same ones starting to brush Jack to-and-fro from the open sea to the Dauntless. Suddenly, a realization donned upon him. Jack was a friend of the Turners, new and old. Elizabeth would have to be grateful in some way if he brought Jack back to the Port, especially in this condition. Perhaps he owed it to her, but nonetheless he would see this gratefulness as a sort of, forgiveness. He didn't have to be with her, he just didn't want any bad terms erupting between them. Quickly, he began to dogpaddle over to the weary pirate, taking him around the waist. It was a surprisingly secure hold, very comforting and warm in the Commodore's views. Slowly, he shook off his temporary shock and fought back to the ship, clambering up the side of it. It was hard with another man, true enough, but Jack wasn't a very big man.  
  
Once he hoisted Jack onto deck, the Commodore sank over the railing and collapsed beside the pirate. Both of their breaths served as a sort of rhythm together, Jack's being faint and occasional, the Commodore's being labored and rapid. Norrington urged himself to get up, if the other crewmembers saw Jack they would surely report it and ruin all of his plans. He took Jack's limp arm and guided him to his feet, ushering him quickly towards the cabin and giving him a quick push in. He saw the pirate stumble awkwardly, catching his balance on a dresser and flashing him a strange, confused look just before he shut the door. Norrington took a few more breaths before his breathing continued at a normal rate, though shakily. He was assisting a pirate. Had he really sank to this level? He stayed silent for a long while, barely even breathing in that time. Finally, he gave a dismissive shake of his head, moving towards the side of the ship to collect his effects. He had to clean up, and quickly. Suspicious minds were not a good thing on a ship. His hand returned to the cabin door's latch and he slid inside.  
  
~*~Yeah, I know, not much Jack action.sorry about that, my dear Sparrow fans =\ Next chapter will be from Jack's point of view.kind of, all right? =P I like to please my fans. Norrington went a little out of character too...urghh. I've been having a writer's block, forgive me =( Next chapter will be better, out sometime late this week! E-mail me for any suggestions, Anubis2006@cox.net ~*~ 


	4. Cabin Boys

~*~WOW! Long time no write.huh...o_o I just typed an essay and I feel like writing something. I think I'll try and switch between Jack's point of view and James' [Norrington's]. This may be short, but I SWARE I'll write more  
in the week.a lot more. Sorry if that annoys you. If so, GET YOUR OWN  
STORY! MWAHA X3 -cough- j/k.you know I loooove you all =D I love your  
reviews too!! I don't know if I want to avert this from slash or  
not...please give me some advice. ~*~  
  
Jack could just make out the outline of the Commodore before the wooden door slammed shut in front of him, trapping him inside the Commodore's quarters. He took a few deep breaths, still pressed against the side of the mahogany dresser. He muttered lightly to himself, dirtied hands tracing the surface of the wood for a moment before he felt his legs give way beneath him. Annoyed, a loud curse escaped him, struggling to get up once more.  
  
The loud bang of the door being thrown open caused him to freeze. Slowly and wide-eyed, he turned to face a shadowed figure towering above him. Awkwardly, he raised a curved hand to object before the figure's hand took a secure grip on his collar, brining him to his feet. Jack felt his face grow hot as he stared into the piercing, blue optics of the figure. He managed a sly grin, charming flash of gold and dirtied teeth through his lips, lips that had seen much. Despite his attempt to keep his charm up, his brows sank back, nervous twitch lingering at the edge of his lips. "A thousand apologies.that.wasn't directed towards you at all. I was cursing my own-"  
  
"-Save your breath," came the sultry and masculine voice of the Commodore in reply, ushering him roughly back to the far reaches of the cabin.  
  
Jack paused, looking taken aback and simply staring at Norrington. He opened his mouth to question before he was shoved back, lightly. He wabbled for a moment before falling back onto the stiff, yet warm cot. He continued to glance up at Norrington quizzically, much in comparison with an inquisitive child. As he opened his mouth to speak again, he was confronted and cut off by Norrington's simple action of kneeling down and coming face- to-face with him.  
  
"If you are wondering why you are here, Mr. Sparrow, it is simply a favor in turn for a.rash action." Norrington broke off, sheepishly casting a glance aside, a faint color coming to his pale cheeks.  
  
Jack raised a brow slightly, giving a gentle nod, the various trinkets among his attire jingling. When they moved in unison, it was a beautiful sound without a doubt, almost like his own private melody. "Musta been something awful if you're bringing a human sacrifice." He grinned slyly again, tones never loosing their sarcasm. After a few chuckles to himself, he broke off at Norrington's disapproving look, clearing his throat.  
  
"Indeed." Norrington said blandly, narrowing his icy optics at Jack.  
  
The blush still lingered amongst his cheeks. That was all Jack could focus on, leading him to tilt his head.  
  
"If you plan to return to Port Royal unscathed, you will sail under my command and my terms," he paused, adapting a bitter and mocking tone, "savvy?"  
  
Jack frowned in disapproval, lips pursing. That was definitely cruel irony.in fact; it just butchered his whole saying if an authorative figure uttered it. He wrinkled his nose a little and bit his tongue. Once he comprehended Norrington's words again, his eyes widened in alarm, sitting up quickly.  
  
"Port Royal?! No, no, mate.there's nothing for me there but the noose. Six- pounder isn't going t'do me any good." He brushed himself off, shakily smiling, "No offence, of course, but I really must-"  
  
He was cut off once more as Norrington pushed him back onto the cot. His legs flailed in the air momentarily hands griping for any hard surface he could use to bring himself back to his feet.  
  
"Relax, Mr. Sparrow. It's going to be a lovely trip." He posed Jack a threatening look, "A silent one as well. Do I make myself clear?"  
  
Jack grimaced through a gulp, shrugging his shoulders slightly in an arrogant manner. "Clear enough." He licked his lips a little, wincing at the salty taste from the sea. The Commodore had already risen and started towards the door. "One moment!" Jack protected, struggling to get up, but managing to sit up, almost cross-legged. "You wouldn't.happen to have a few scraps? Maybe a pint to wet me whistle?" He gave a hopeful, charming grin yet again, placing his hands together and rubbing them slightly.  
  
His heart sunk at the cold, seemingly lifeless look Norrington gave at him. He watched Norrington's every move, from the placing of his hands rigidly behind his back to the very flutter of his eyelashes. Clearly, he had asked the wrong question and was about to get a snide reply.  
  
"Your rations will come when I see fit. As for the 'wetting of your whistle', wet it with silence and I'll see what I can scrounge up." Norrington stated flatly. Jack could have sworn a faint grin was tugging at the edge of the Commodore's thin lips, begging to be unleashed. Jack opened his mouth to speak, though decided against it, giving a faint nod. The various trinkets about him jingled once more.  
  
Norrington turned about face towards the door once more, pulling open the extravagantly decorated doors that led to the main deck. Just before Norrington could fully step onto the deck, Jack interjected, though remained still this time. "Commodore?"  
  
Norrington heaved an irritable sigh, glancing over his shoulder, "What now, Sparrow?"  
  
"Where are you residin' for the night, eh?"  
  
Norrington looked thoughtful for a moment, though he didn't reply; now facing Jack. As he fully stepped out onto the deck, he took a side of the door in each hand and started to shut them.  
  
"Evening, Mr. Sparrow."  
  
Jack's eyes widened, almost yelling out before the doors closed, leaving him in darkness. Not even the moonlight seeped into the cabin. It was pitch black.ghastly. He heaved a light sigh, shifting down into the cot, brows settling in an annoyed manner. Tones adapted a mocking tone as he shut his eyes, head resting upon the stiff, goose-down pillow.  
  
"Evening, Commodore." 


	5. Dehydration

Gulls called from above, both hungrily and devilishly. Jack could only hear them; he couldn't make them out as he opened his eyes to the blinding white Caribbean sun. Their silhouettes finally came into view and he pursed his lips together thoughtfully. Where was he? Licking his lips a few times, smoothing the rough, dry cracks in the tissue; he finally rolled over onto his stomach and brought himself to his knees. Hands sprawled out in front of him; he felt the warm sand beneath them. It wasn't possible...it couldn't be! Panicked, Jack shuffled back a few steps until he backed into the scaly trunk of a tree. All he could do was yell out and raise his arms as coconuts from above pummeled him. No one would hear him die on this island. They would only find the bleached bones of Captain Jack Sparrow.  
  
No sooner had the coconut made contact with his head had Jack awoken with a scream. As he sprang up from the cot his head caught a shelf upon the wall and he rolled straight off the mattress. Jack lay there sprawled out on the floor for a long series of moments with the headrush of his life. Was it all a dream then...or had he been out for quite some time and rescued from is fate? Where was he at the moment? Griping at the floor beneath him he felt neither sand nor the familiar floorboards of the Pearl. The boards were smoothed and polished elegantly, yet Jack could tell ill craftsmanship no matter what coating was given to the boards to make them appear elegant. As he hauled himself to his feet he stole a glance around the room, which only a few beams of sunlight seeped through the glass of the doors. Everything outside, through the glass, was distorted by its design.  
  
A familiar smell came to his nose once his senses returned to normal after his head was finished spinning. His nostrils quivered for a moment as if recognizing it and his eyes lit up at the remembrance. Rum! A pint! Frantically he griped around for any form of a mug or glass but found nothing. Wrinkling his nose in disapproval, he slowed down his actions and searched everywhere until his hand rested upon something under the bed. A mug. A fallen mug. Strewn over the floor Jack could feel the warm liquid seeping into the cracks of the floorboards. Greedily, he raised his hands to his mouth at the very touch of the liquor and started to suck the rum off his fingers. The process continued until he looked down and over himself. Food. Everywhere. All over his clothes, no longer solid but mashed up and smeared across. A pewter plate below the bed caught his eye and as the realization of what he did hit him he shut his eyes tightly. He rolled out of the cot and right onto a meal.  
  
Come to think of it...who had put that meal there? How did he know what it was? Could the rum have been poisoned? A bitter taste suddenly came to his mouth and washed over his tongue leaving a burning sensation inside of it. He looked to his fingers suddenly and wasn't so sure of what he had licked off of them. Jack's stomach churned and moaned while his skull started to split. Falling forward, his arms caught him and supported him shakily. From his kneeling position, he proceeded to vomit over the floor. Once it was all out he didn't move, he only took in a series of labored breaths and coughed. It was poison. He was dying. He'd die in this strange room without a clue! Suddenly the island seemed very welcoming. His hearing was the only sense that appeared to be sharpened rather than spasmodically functioning. He could hear the creaking of the floorboards as if they were cannon fire to a powder monkey. The sound of the door creaking open was nothing pleasant, nor was its loudness as it slammed behind whoever entered. Jack proceeded to vomit again.  
  
Suddenly someone took hold of his shoulders and hurled him backwards onto the floor. It was like he had just been flipped over, but it wasn't possible. Or was it? Grimacing, he tried to sit up and escape the shadow with icy blue eyes that loomed over him only to be shoved back down to the ground. His head jerked from the force of more vomit fighting its way up his esophagus but before it had a chance the shadow tilted his head back and Jack was able to swallow the fowl brew back down into the reaches from which it came. With a groan and a series of mumbles Jack blindly griped for any part of the figure he could touch. His hand had landed on some sort of flesh, squinting into the faint light he could make out a face. A stern, disciplined, yet handsome face. Norrington! What was he doing here??  
  
No sooner had he started to scuttle away had Norrington pulled him back towards the ground. Jack cringed at the nausea that stirred within him and he tried to push the officer away from him. Norrington had the upper hand at the moment, however. Jack could do nothing as he was restrained, pinned to the floor by Norrington. His next action took him entirely by surprise. Norrington glared Jack down for a good series of minutes before he proceeded to hoist him up and deposit him upon the cot. Alarmed, Jack squirmed against the Commodore's hold and sat up.  
  
"What's this?! I'm not some wench to be bedded!"  
  
Norrington's brows furrowed before one arched high upon his forehead. The bewildered look remained set upon his features, but his reply was cool and crisp.  
  
"Mr. Sparrow, I have no such intentions. You of all people should have a good idea of what I am both capable of and not capable of." He paused and looked thoughtful before shaking his head, "Then again, perhaps not. You were shipwrecked, I can only assume since you were discovered floating alone in rough shape quite a distance from any ship or land."  
  
Jack seemed surprised by this. The Pearl wrecked? Where were the others? He stared blankly at Norrington, rum-colored irises staring at the man for answers before they wandered elsewhere in the room as if the walls or some other thing held the answers for him. All he knew was he was in a situation (not necessarily a bad one) and his head was spinning. He couldn't remember anything clearly, just fuzzy fragments of some epic happening that left him here in Norrington's company. His gaze returned to the man and he stared him down pitifully as if begging for him to continue. Surely he knew something a little more...  
  
"It was I who hauled you up on the deck and took the liberty of sleeping with the crew while granting you residence in my cabin. You seemed to have slept soundly enough; none of the crew detected any sort of disturbance. I'd like to keep it that way, mind you. I doubt they'd appreciate a stowaway pirate aboard."  
  
Frowning, Norrington looked the room over once more. The vomit seeping across the floorboards, the spilt stain of rum and the food that was splattered all over, including on Jack. His eyebrows furrowed in a look of aggravation once more before they subsided with a sigh.  
  
"I see you found your meal...but not in the manner I had hoped." Briefly he shook his head and stood up stepping back from Jack. "Mr. Sparrow, from henceforth you will appreciate the rations I give you, no matter how plentiful or meager they might be." He leaned a little closer to Jack with a steely, military gaze. "Do I make myself clear?"  
  
Jack stared back into the Commodore's deep cerulean irises and nodded slowly. Somehow he felt compelled to, Norrington's eyes were so stern and official they could bend you at a whim. He didn't look away, even after the man leaned back and proceeded towards the door. As soon as Norrington's hands rested upon the handles of the large, glass-paneled doors.  
  
"Pardon moi, Mon Capitan," Jack raised one of his hands awkwardly with a curve of his wrist, yet his thumb, pointer and pinky finger remained raised but arched over gently. "Where exactly are we headed and what's in store for me?"  
  
The Commodore didn't move for a moment. He stood rigid with his hand still clasped around the handle of the door. Outside the sailors started to rouse from their slumber and report to their duties up on deck. Still Norrington didn't turn back to Jack; he spoke to him without looking at the man.  
  
"Port Royal, once we're done on this patrol. There will be no trial; I guarantee you of that, Mr. Sparrow...but I'm not sure what will be done with you. I think it best that we focus on where we are now rather than the happenings of a later date, don't you?"  
  
He didn't give Jack time to respond. Almost immediately he began to speak again.  
  
"I'll be taking my meal to my quarters this evening. We'll dine together and talk more. You'll need your rest until then." He nodded indicating a jug of some sort near the bed. "You're dehydrated...fortunately for you, you didn't knock that over and condemn yourself. Drink and sleep...there's a chamber pot under the cot if it's absolutely necessary."  
  
A cringe of almost utter disgust was the last thing Jack could make out on the Commodore's face before he left the cabin just as quickly as he appeared. The door was shut in a hurry, to keep prying eyes out he guessed, and the silhouette of the Commodore on the other side of the glass grew smaller and smaller until he vanished across the deck. Jack moaned and leaned back into the cot staring up at the ceiling before taking the jug in hand. With a few deep swigs tiredness settled in comfortably. Hopefully along with some consciousness his memory would return to him when he awoke. Still, the matter of returning to Port Royal concerned him. Norrington assured him there would be no trial...so would he be condemned without one and murdered unjustly?  
  
Such nightmares plagued his sleep...yet he couldn't wake. 


	6. Tension

Norrington stepped out of the cabin, his cabin which he was so generously lending to sea-scum, and onto deck. The air around was still cool, but it wouldn't stay that way for long...there was never such luck on the Caribbean with that. Already rays from the helios high in the heavens were starting to beat down upon the powerful force of the ocean, the land and man alike. He took in a deep inhale of the crisp air that had no exposure to the filth of tamed, colonized lands. Though it did not hold any of those evils in its composition the air was thick with a bittersweet sort of mixture of the crimes of the sea and the innocence of itself. It was a child, a child that he sought to discipline and make safe.

He could linger no longer; the men were already at work and shuffling about their duties as tired hands would do. A sudden anxiety seeped into him and his heart clenched tightly in his chest. It was now he realized the seriousness of what he was doing, what the consequences were if the crew discovered. They certainly weren't England's brightest, anywhere's brightest for that manner, but certain people were sharp as a tack and persuasive. Those were two deadly factors Norrington had no intention of dealing with. He rolled his shoulders briefly, it was off to have them out of a rigid position for once, and started forward, head lowered slightly. As soon as it was raised he met the mousy features of Lieutenant Gillette. His eyes widened a moment and he took half a step back. Turning his head off to the side slightly he took a deep inhale of oxygen in order to hold in an explicit comment on Gillette's surprise.

"Apologies, Sir. I thought you might have seen me."

"What is the manner of your addressing me?" asked Norrington rather impatiently.

"The men haven't exactly," he paused in thought, "settled, Sir. They stay awake after the respective sleeping time and chatter on about nonsense like pirates that haunt this fine vessel of the Royal Crown and noises from above deck."

Norrington continued to gaze at him expectantly for a moment. There was a brief silence after the lieutenant brought his concern to attention...Norrington had expected him to say a bit more. Once he was certain he would get nothing more out of the lower-ranking officer he cleared his throat in attempt to mask his expectancy and make it seem as though he had lost himself in thought.

"They're fresh, young blood, Gillette. They're bound to suspect something under every floorboard and all that nonsense." He offered a ghost of a smile, "They'll settle in time when they find the job to be more work than play."

Gillette raised his head ready to interject but submitted to the Commodore with a sigh. "Yes, but understand, Sir, that their concern lies with the noises they hear on deck. It is also quite unsettling that you should choose to bunk below with us rather than to remain on deck with the charts. On the topic of the charts you have not allowed us access to these charts of our destination yet. We have no idea what we are sailing in to, that even has me unsettled, Commodore."

Norrington had found Gillette's concerns a bit too much. His gut wretched and his chest felt as if it started to cave in, lungs lacking air and beginning to close in on themselves. His lips parted slightly to keep his vital process of breathing going as the rest of his senses were going crazy. Mentally he cursed himself and tried to get a hold of his spasmodic nature and suppress it to the cool one he always had.

"Lieutenant, I really am at a loss for words. It is enough that the crew doesn't trust my judgment, but a senior officer is a greater blow. Certainly you know I have never steered us in the wrong direction and I always put others before myself. Is that so farfetched?"

Gillette fell silent again and averted his gaze from the Commodore to the deck for a moment. "I really don't know what to believe after that rash behavior at Miss Swann, or Mrs. Turner's wedding rather," he said softly before managing to look at Norrington again. His gaze was firm now, not hesitating in the least. Norrington's eyes narrowed slightly in disapproval, but he was more shocked than anything else. The action was masked over by his eyes that widened in shock after their brief narrowing. He couldn't think of anything to say, lips parted and parched for some sort of retort. Gillette, seemingly pained by his expression, spoke before Norrington could look dumbfounded any longer.

"Perhaps you could just show the men inside your quarters? Assure them that nothing is indeed wrong?"

"No," Norrington answered rather surprisingly and quickly.

"Surely you don't expect us to last an entire voyage with no chart and rumors spreading like wildfire!"

"You're out of order, Gillette."

"Those are the exact circumstances to find yourself in a mutiny! A mutiny of fine, English lads! How odd it sounds, but it's entirely possible! The sea does many things to-"

"I pray you're affected by the sea and truly not defying me willingly. It would be a pity to see you court-martialed."

Gillette froze for an instant before taking a step closer to Norrington. He had to look up to make direct eye contact with the man, but he established it quite well. He started at the Commodore in disbelief, "Commodore! Keeping word from the men will do no good on anyone's part...only raise suspicion and the evils that linger in all men."

"No, and no it shall remain."

"Allow them a peek into the cabin?"

"No."

Gillette's cheeks flushed bright pink, his watery, squinted eyes narrowed even more. He strode past the commodore in a huff and stalked towards the captain's cabin. "I have been within those very walls just a few days ago when we first set sail in the morning! Why shall I not have privileges now?"

"Lieutenant stand down!"

"I will once I have settled this and saved all our hides!"

The men had drawn attention to themselves, much more than was needed. All the hands on deck now turned towards the cabin and watched both men rush towards it to make it first. It much resembled an old schoolyard fight back in England, a brief fond memory that excited the young men tending to the ship. Most, those who could, crept away from their positions and followed the squabbling pair towards the cabin. They had come within a yard's distance when Gillette's hand landed upon the handle and Norrington swiped at it in attempt to get it off.

All the men stared in awe as the door swung open and they found...


End file.
